


Imperfect

by shaunamyrise17



Category: Dean/Castiel - Fandom, Supernatural, destiel - Fandom
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Dean is 17 at the beginning of the story, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, but turns 18 before there's any hanky panky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaunamyrise17/pseuds/shaunamyrise17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Winchester goes to work for Castiel Novak, who is a wealthy businessman, involved in both legal and illegal doings; John's elder son Dean captures Castiel's interest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the beginning

“Let's hope this one is a little more discreet than the last,” Luke Nixon said quietly in Castiel's ear.

Castiel Novak nodded shortly. The tall rugged figure of John Winchester removed his coat and draped it over his arm before hesitantly approaching the table. At the table sat two men, one lean and blond, the other dark haired, his face in shadow. They both wore immaculately tailored suits and despite the early hour, there were two crystal tumblers of amber liquid on the table in front of them.

Luke inclined his head and Winchester took a seat, placing the bunched up jacket over his knees. He wrung his slightly trembling hands briefly before he seemed to become aware of the nervous action and gripped his knees instead.

“John Winchester,” Luke observed.

John nodded and handed over a slightly ragged bunch of papers which Luke took before registering mild distaste at the warm, moist feel of them.

Another man entered behind the bar. He was taller and his movements conveyed the bearing and confidence of youth, and even in the muted light, he was very obviously strikingly handsome. He tugged off a worn green jacket to reveal a faded tee-shirt and took a seat at the bar.

“We're closed,” Luke addressed him.

“Oh, sorry, that's my son.” John interjected, “we've not got anywhere to stay right now so he's had to come with me.”

Luke returned his attention to John.

“You've clearly had a lot of experience with this kind of landscaping and maintenance work,” Luke, nodding towards John's references, “but I can't help but notice that each job is of remarkably short duration.”

John glanced over at the silent dark-haired man sitting beside Luke.

“Done a lot of travelling, practically circumnavigated the damn country really, over the past ten or twelve years, itchy feet, you know,” John laughed nervously, “but now that the boy's (John jerked his thumb towards his son) in his final few years of school, thought it might be time to settle somewhere more permanent,,” John trailed off, lowering his eyes.

There was silence for a long moment before John spoke again, as if to fill it.

“-And Dean, you know, that's my son, he's really good with this kind of work too.” John's eyes flitted between Luke's appraising gaze and Castiel's impassive one, “he's also got a real knack with cars, can take one apart and put it together again from scratch. And we're both real hard workers.”

Luke took a breath as if to talk but was startled into silence when Castiel spoke instead.

“I'm quite satisfied that you and Dean will be able to undertake the demands of the job satisfactorily.” Castiel said evenly, looking towards Dean, his eyes lingering.

Dean raised his eyes and met Castiel's gaze.

Luke eyebrows were touching his hairline. “Okay, I guess that's that. Mr Winchester. How soon can you bring your things around to Mr Novak's estate?

* * *

Castiel Novak's palatial estate was more remarkable when one took into account his age. At 32 he had amassed a fortune through a business empire that incorporated far more dishonest than honest dealings, and he had his finger in most pies in most of the illegal goings on in the greater part of Michigan.

His home stood atop a small hill with vineyards and loosely landscaped grounds that sloped down to a pristine beach front on Lake Michigan, just outside of the town of Three Oaks.

When John Winchester's ancient van turned onto the curved driveway of his home early the next morning, Castiel was waiting in the front room. He watched with consternation through sheer curtains as Dean pushed open the drivers side door and jumped with agility down onto the plush grass that bordered the paved driveway.

John carried a beaten leather suitcase and Dean slung a green army disposal bag over his shoulder.

The housekeeper duly answered the door and shuffled father and son out to the tiny cottage where they would be staying, not more than a few hundred metres from the main house.

Castiel had slept fitfully the previous night; his dreams confused by blurry images of the long-limbed youth, and he'd woken up sweaty and hard.

Castiel had never considered himself a particularly sexual being. He'd not really ever felt much in the way of sexual attraction to either women or men, and he had always been openly contemptuous of those who allowed themselves to be subject to their sexual desires.

Castiel had long prided himself on making decisions with cold reason and objectivity, and this characteristic had served him well in his business endeavours, both legal and illegal.

But now, he'd impulsively hired an unreliable man to encroach upon his most sacred personal sanctuary, on the basis of an his attraction to a boy who might be barely eighteen. It was completely bewildering and entirely troubling.

* * *

Castiel slept even more fitfully that night than he had the previous one, as if Dean's proximity had some kind of tangible pull on him, like the moon on the tide.

He pushed aside the curtains and eyed the groundskeeper's cottage where it stood nestled amongst several broad frangipani trees. He swallowed the last few lukewarm mouthfuls of coffee before showering and pulling on a neatly pressed white shirt. He threaded his tie with practised ease and slipped into a crisp navy suit before heading downstairs.

“Good morning,” Maria greeted him brightly and handed him his second coffee.

A variety of freshly prepared breakfast foods were set out on the kitchen table, pancakes and pastries, toast, sausages, eggs, tomatoes and hashed potatoes. The members of the household staff would help themselves to what was left when Castiel had finished his breakfast, which ordinarily consisted of toast and coffee. Castiel picked up the morning paper and was startled by a firm rapping at the french doors that opened out from the kitchen into the large limestone-paved pool area beyond.

“Mr Novak?”

It was Dean's voice, loud and with the amiable confidence of youth, and Castiel found himself feeling instantly tense. He shook off the uncharacteristic feeling and beckoned him in.

Castiel was immediately struck again by the boy's beauty, as striking green eyes met his.

“Good morning, Mr Novak, I'm really sorry to bother you sir, but my dad sent me out to get some milk and sugar and I was wondering if I could borrow some from you. Save me going to the store.” He smiled winningly.

“Of course, Dean. Come in, help yourself.”

“Thanks, Mr Novak. Don't wanna miss the bus and be late on my first day.”

Castiel's eyes followed the boy retreating back as he headed past the pool to the cottage. As he opened the door, Dean turned around and smiled at Castiel, and the older man was so startled that he tipped coffee down his shirt and had to go back upstairs to change before he left for work.

* * *

Five weeks the father and son had inhabited the caretaker's cottage, and John Winchester had unobtrusively gone about his job; the grounds were neat and the plants were flourishing.

Dean had fallen into the habit of dropping around in the mornings for a few minutes of cheerful conversation before school. He ate so much of the breakfast food that Maria began preparing more every morning so the staff didn't complain that they weren't left enough to share between themselves. And Castiel had found himself looking forward to those brief visits more than any other part of his day.

In conversation Dean had let slip that he had a younger brother, Sam, who didn't live with him anymore, but when Castiel had questioned further, Dean's face had clouded over and he'd made a hasty exit, so Castiel didn't broach the topic again.

Castiel's infatuation with the boy had only grown over this time. At night, he often found himself alone and desperately gripping his sheets as he came, groaning the boy's name, into the silence of his bedroom.

“Call me Castiel,” he'd told the boy one morning, and when Dean had begun calling him Cas instead, Castiel relished the familiarity of it.

Castiel found himself leaving work early so that he could wait, reclining by the pool in the early evening when Dean returned from school, simply to have the opportunity to share a few words with the boy.

Castiel often wondered where Dean spent the intervening hours between school finishing and when he arrived back at the estate. One morning, he asked and Dean had simply smiled and replied enigmatically that he was just 'hanging out with friends'. At this, Castiel had felt a pang of anguish so palpable and so profound that it had left him breathless.

Castiel's fascination with Dean was beyond his understanding. And this infatuation that he had thought would have waned by now had instead grown into a persistent ache that he felt in his chest and low in his belly.

But recently, the comfortable pattern had changed. The previous Thursday, Castiel had woken, disoriented, 2.42am showing in bold neon figures on his alarm clock. It had been shouting that had woken him up, a low rumble at first, but becoming more shrill and distinct as each minute passed. It was a sound at odds with the peace and quiet of the estate which Castiel had determinedly kept a haven from the violence he commonly encountered in his work.

When he threw open his window, Castiel could hear some words distinctly, curses and epithets mostly, and he could tell that the voice was that of John Winchester. The shouting, accompanied by the occasional crashing sound, of objects being thrown about, went on for half an hour or so before the cottage fell silent again. Castiel remained wide-awake, in a state of extreme agitation, until dawn.

The next morning, Dean didn't come to see him before school. Castiel watched from the kitchen window as Dean took the path around the side of the house and slowly traversed the paved driveway, head low, hands pocketed, kicking a pine cone along as he walked.

Castiel went about his commute to work with his teeth pressed so firmly against his lower lip that he tasted blood. On his return home he inquired of an house employee and was informed that John Winchester had not stepped foot outside the cottage that day.

The next night was quiet in the Winchester cottage, though Castiel hardly slept. He instead sat vigil in an armchair, a book open and unread in his hands.

The weekend passed without incident and John Winchester worked hard in the gardens all day Saturday and Sunday. Dean, as was usual on weekends, was absent, but returned on Sunday afternoon, loping up the driveway with several plastic bags of groceries in his hands.

On Monday morning, Castiel was relieved to see Dean again. He grinned apologetically as he gave Castiel a large wrapped slice of apple pie.

“I made it myself,” he said, almost shyly. “It's dad's favourite.”

“Thank-you, Dean,” Castiel said sincerely.

“It's no problem,” Dean returned. “I've been cooking for my f-,” Dean faltered minutely, “-my dad - since I was old enough to hold a spatula, so I'm pretty good now.”

That evening, Dean returned home later than usual. It was quite dark by the time Castiel heard his footsteps coming up the driveway. Castiel felt his chest surge with relief, and the tension he hadn't known he'd been feeling was released suddenly with such force that he almost laughed out loud.

"It's my birthday, today," Dean explained, grinning widely when Castiel looked questioningly at the paper party hat on his head.

"Happy birthday, Dean," he exclaimed.

"Yep, eighteen. I'm an adult now, Cas." Dean laughed as he headed towards the cottage, leaving Castiel blushing.

* * *  
The next morning Castiel was waiting anxiously for Dean at breakfast. When Dean arrived he looked more than a little disheveled.

"Were you drinking last night, Dean?" Castiel asked, cringing inwardly at how old and _paternal_ the question made him sound.

"Just a couple, Cas. After all, my friends had gone to the trouble of getting hold of some booze, I had to be sociable. Besides, if I was in Australia right now, it'd be totally legal for me to drink!"

Castiel smiled. "I have a present for you, Dean. Come with me, please."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Really, Cas? You didn't have to. But, hell, I'm really glad you did!"

He followed Castiel through the house, past several rooms that all seemed to be variations on sitting rooms, until they stopped at a door. Castiel pushed it open with a flourish and gestured Dean into the room. Castiel stepped in behind Dean, taking care to leave a good distance between them.

"I want you to pick one." Castiel explained.

Dean's jaw dropped as he gazed at the array of beautifully kept cars parked in neat rows across the expansive garage. "Holy fucking crap! Are you serious, Cas? You're totally Karate Kid-ing me right now?"

"No, I'm not kidding, Dean. I'm being completely serious. I want you to pick whichever one you like best."

But Dean was already moving from car to car, checking one out before whooping and moving on to the next, his eyes bright with excitement.

"I didn't even know you had these, Cas. This is incredi- oh no, this is it. This is the one, Cas. Can I have this one?" Dean was draped against the side of a sleek black monster of a car, his hands cupped at the driver's side window and peering longingly through it.

Castiel opened a panel in the wall which held several sets of car keys on tiny hooks. He squinted at each set in turn. "And which one is that?"

Dean was pushing up beside him in an instant, the boy's sudden warmth and proximity startling Castiel and causing him to jump away as if he'd been burned.

If Dean had noticed, he didn't comment. "Chevrolet Impala, 1967!" He shouted triumphantly, holding aloft a set of keys. He turned to Castiel. "Thank-you, Cas. Thank-you so fucking much!"

Before Castiel could respond, Dean leaped on him, throwing his arms around Castiel's shoulders and enveloping him in a vigorous hug.

Castiel stiffened in his arms, and then Dean's lips were at his ear. "This is honestly the most amazing thing that has ever happened to me!"

Dean pulled away. "Can I drive it to school today?"

Before Castiel could respond, Dean was in the car and the engine was purring and Castiel had the presence of mind to reach over and press the button for the automatic doors before they both suffered from carbon monoxide poisoning. Then Dean was gone.

Castiel's skin was alive with goosebumps. He could still feel Dean's hot breath against his ear. He could hear the low rumble of the Impala as it turned onto the main road from the highway. He turned on his heel and headed upstairs for a cold shower.

* * *

The next week passed in relative calm. Dean could hardly keep the smile off his face and continued to thank Castiel profusely every time he saw him. Because he didn't have to catch the bus to school, or walk home from school, he was able to leave later in the mornings and often arrived home earlier in the evenings, too. And this extra time he had he spent with Castiel.

Then on Sunday, in the early morning hours, the shouting was back again. Castiel awoke with a start and gripped the glock under his pillow, tensely.

He sat bolt upright when he heard a loud bang and then something shattered explosively. Ten minutes later the shouting had quietened down and the night was still again. Castiel uncurled his hand painfully from the barrel of the gun, his palm and fingers reddened and patterned from the pressure.

The next morning, Dean didn't come to see him before school again. Instead Castiel stood alone and watched him trudge down the path to the road and when the boy turned briefly back towards the house, he noticed that Dean was wearing sunglasses. He closed his eyes as the ache in his chest became so exquisitely painful that it left him short of breath.

Before he left for work, his chief of security came to him, not unexpectedly.

“Sir, I'm concerned that the Winchesters are going to cause problems for you,” Luke Nixon said quietly.

Castiel nodded.

* * *

It was just after four o'clock when Castiel's mobile rang, and a number he didn't recognise flashed on the screen.

“Hello, Mr Novak? This is Ms Green. I'm deputy principal of Three Oak High School.”

Castiel straightened. “Yes,” he said tersely, working to control the rising feeling of panic in his chest.

“I'm ringing because you are the only other contact number we have on the file for Dean Winchester, and his father isn't answering his phone.”

“What's happened?” Castiel ground out, rising from his desk and grabbing his coat as he spoke.

“Well, it seems that Dean has been involved in a physical altercation with some other students.”

“I'm on my way.”

*          *           *

At the school, Castiel was ushered into the deputy principal's office.

Castiel blanched when he caught sight of Dean, and it took him several moments to steady himself. The boy was slumped in a chair against the wall. Both his eyes and cheekbones were purpled and blood was smeared and clotting around his nose. His full lower lip was split, swollen and oozing blood.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel managed.

Dean raised his eyes and his face seemed to relax a little.

“You should see the other guys,” Dean said weakly.

Ms Green cleared her throat. “From what we can gather, from eye-witnesses to the incident, it seems Dean was the aggressor. He's been given a five day suspension, and we will need to schedule a meeting with his father. If you could get him to contact the school as soon as possible....” She trailed off, her expression quizzical.

Castiel nodded impassively. “Come on, Dean.” He put out his hand and when Dean took it he pulled the boy to his feet.

They drove back to the estate in silence until Castiel took the left turn onto the wide stone driveway.

“Please don't tell my dad, Cas.” Dean's voice was strained, as if he found it difficult to form the words, and Castiel was certain it was from more than the physical discomfort his injuries were causing him.

Castiel was silent for a while, then he spoke quietly, “You can stay with me tonight, Dean. And of course I won't tell him. But your father will find out when he checks the messages on his phone.”

Dean snorted. “No, he won't Cas, I gave the school the wrong number when I filled in the enrollment form.

“Isn't it your father's job to fill in your school enrollment form, Dean?”

“My dad started letting me take care of that stuff a long time ago.”

Castiel shut off the ignition and turned to the boy. Castiel's breath hitched as he took in the boy's beautiful face, grotesquely marred.

“And who takes care you, Dean?” he asked softly.

* * *

Maria showed Dean to one of the large spare rooms in the East wing. Dean had never been beyond the kitchen and the grand entrance way, with its enormous curved staircase, and he'd considered those rooms impressive enough.

“Holy shit,” Dean breathed, “this room is bigger than the cottage.”

“Shit,” Dean repeated, noting the carpeted steps leading up to the king size bed in the centre of the room. There was a large walk-in wardrobe and an ensuite with a huge spa bath and sparkling white tiles. A set of sliding doors opened onto a balcony which overlooked the vineyard.

Castiel waited in the dining room, worrying his lip as Dean showered and changed. It was a habit he hadn't indulged in since he was an anxious and overweight child. He chided himself for it and rang through to the kitchen to ask chef to prepare steak for dinner.

When Dean emerged, his hair was damp and his skin glistened from the shower, but he still wore the clothes he had worn to school.

“I didn't have anything to change into.”

Castiel disappeared into his own bedroom, which turned out to be just down the hall from Dean's room, and emerged a few minutes later with a pair of well-worn jeans and a soft grey tee-shirt.

“I can't imagine you ever wearing these things,” Dean remarked.

Without comment, Castiel handed Dean two tablets and a glass of water. “This will help with the pain. Now, I suggest you send a text message to your father's actual number explaining that you're spending a night at a friend's.”

Dean nodded and fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Dinner will be served at seven o'clock. Why don't you start on your homework.”

Dean scowled, but returned to his room to fetch his books and set himself up at one end of the huge walnut dining table. Castiel took up the other end of the table with a newspaper.

Completely distracted by the boy's presence, he stared at the black print until the letters squirmed and blurred.

Dean, for his part, tapped his pencil, hummed and talked out loud to himself the entire time. Occasionally he would ask Castiel a question on a topic of Maths or Physics or Geography. Castiel was able to answer all of his questions, a fact which he found intensely gratifying.

The two sat there in the grand dining room with its expensive furnishings and thick carpeting until daylight faded and the house staff came through to turn on the lights.

At quarter to seven, Rogers came in and quietly set about putting out the plates and silverware. Dean obligingly moved his school things back into the spare room and took his seat again as a bowl of thick soup and a large glass of juice was set before him.

“Pumpkin soup, sirs,” Rogers explained solemnly, then took his leave.

Dean looked dubiously at the soup before putting a large spoonful into his mouth.

“Wow, that's good!” The soup was thick and rich and creamy and delicious.

Dean picked up his bowl and his crystal goblet of juice and took it down to the other end of the table, seating himself next to Castiel.

No sooner had Dean cleaned the contents of his bowl, it was whisked away and replaced with the main meal: a huge T-bone steak, steamed vegetables and smashed potatoes.

“I never thought vegetables could taste this good,” Dean commented as he dug into the food with enthusiasm.

“It took me a long time to procure my current chef. He's very good.”

“Shit Cas,” Dean growled through a huge mouthful, “how do I get this rich? I mean, how'd you do it? Because I sure as hell could get used to living like this!” Dean indicated to his dinner and the room at large with a wide sweep of his hand.

Castiel smiled thinly. “There's no real secret to it, Dean.”

Dessert was pecan pie served with ice-cream and fruit.

As Dean devoured his food, Castiel asked him quietly, “So, what was the fight about, Dean?”

“Do you eat alone in this room every night, Cas?” Dean responded, finishing the last mouthful of pie and scraping his plate with the fork.

“Most nights, yes. But you didn't answer my question.”

“It was no big deal. Just this dickhead at school was talking all kinds of shit, Cas, about you. So I fucked him up.” Dean shrugged.

Cas raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Well, I wouldn't have thought I would be the subject of school yard gossip. But you don't have to defend me, Dean, and certainly not at such expense to yourself.”

“It's okay,” Dean smiled ruefully. “To be honest I was looking for a fight. It just gave me an excuse. Are you gonna eat that pie?” Dean indicated to Castiel's untouched plate.

Castiel pushed his plate towards Dean and the boy attacked it hungrily.

“Why were you spoiling for a fight, Dean?”

“No reason in particular. I didn't expect his friends to get involved, though. Five against one, it wasn't really a fair fight." Dean took a long swig of juice. "Rookie mistake; Dad'll fucking kill me when he sees this.” He touched his face gingerly and lowered his eyes.

Dean cleaned his plate and the two sat in silence for a few minutes.

Castiel wanted to break the silence, he wanted so desperately to say something helpful or reassuring, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth his emotions would get the better of him.

"Do you ever get lonely, Cas?" Dean asked, watching him from beneath lowered lashes.


	2. the boy next door

“Why were you spoiling for a fight, Dean?”  
“No reason in particular. I didn't expect his friends to get involved, though. Five against one, it wasn't really a fair fight. Rookie mistake; Dad'll fucking kill me when he sees this.” He touched his face gingerly and lowered his eyes.

“Do you ever get lonely, Cas?”

“From time to time.” Castiel said mildly, swallowing his last mouthful of wine. “I have some work I need to do in my office, Dean. Why don't you go watch television in your bedroom.”

“Aren't you curious about what that jerk was saying about you, Cas?” Dean leaned in towards him.

“No, Dean. I have no interest in idle gossip.” Castiel pushed back from the table with finality.

Later, in his office, Castiel tugged at his tie, picked up the internal telephone and pressed a number into the handset. “Luke,” he said solemnly, “it's time.”

 

* *

Castiel could hear the warm rumble of Dean's laughter from the kitchen as he descended the stairs to breakfast the next morning. Dean sat at the table with a pastry in one hand and a steaming mug in the other.

“Hey, do you know that Maria makes these fuckers from scratch, Cas?” he asked through a mouthful of croissant.

“Oooh, you watch your language boy!” Maria said fiercely and she swatted him lightly on the head but there was amusement in her eyes.

“Yes, ma'am,” Dean said . “Maria's tryin' to civilise me, Cas. What do you think of that?”

Castiel sat at the table, deliberately choosing a seat at the opposite side from Dean.

“I think you need to consider how you can spend these days of suspension productively, Dean.” Cas said as he buttered a slice of warm toast. “Look at it as an opportunity to genuinely atone for your behaviour.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Well, actually, I've been thinking on that. How about I go into work with you Cas? You can show me what you do all day, teach me how to get rich and important like you. What d'you say?”

“I don't think that would be the best idea, Dean. I work in an office. It's a very quiet and staid environment. Trust me, there's nothing happening there that would interest a young man such as yourself.”

“Come on, Cas. I'll be your gopher. Or whatever you want. I'll do whatever you say.” Dean pleaded. “I just really want to see what you do all day.”

Castiel scrubbed a hand down his face. “I'm sorry, Dean. I have to say no. It is not possible.”

“But you're the boss, right?”

“Yes, I am the boss.” Castiel sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “I don't really spend a lot of time in the office, Dean. I tend to travel around a lot.”

“But you just said-”

“Either way it's not a good idea.”

“So I'll travel with you.”

“Dean, I'm sorry. I have to say no and I won't discuss the matter any further.” Castiel's voice was firm, almost fatherly, he realised with a wince.

Dean cast him a sullen look and the two finished breakfast in strained silence. When Castiel said good-bye and left for work, Dean didn't respond.

* * *

Luke drove them to work as usual. Castiel watched the passing scenery and anxiously replayed the morning's conversation in his mind. He couldn't shake the thought that Dean had looked every bit the petulant teenager that Castiel supposed he was entitled to be. This idea was unsettling enough in and of itself, but was compounded for Castiel by a confusing and thoroughly alien mixture of emotions that he had attempted, but had failed, to rationalise.

Dean had expressed a desire to spend the day with Castiel. Indeed, Dean had been spending more and more time with Castiel over the past few weeks.

But surely Dean didn't see Castiel as any more than just a wealthy older man who offered a comfortable place to stay, and support in the face of a neglectful and violent father? Or did Dean see him as a surrogate father, which considering the nature of Castiel's own feelings, was entirely worse.

When Luke noisily pulled on the park brake, Castiel realised he'd spent the entire hour drive thinking about Dean. Castiel couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anxious. He actually couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anything much in the way of emotion, and certainly not desire. He was torn between hating the uncertainty of it and getting a high from the excitement and adrenaline of it.

Either way, the situation left him feeling agitated and restless during daylight hours and wakeful and unsettled at night. The only relief he felt was in Dean's presence, but then that brought with it a physiological reaction so extreme and unfamiliar that it left him exhausted.

He straightened his tie. Introspection was not helpful in his line of work.

* * *

Castiel had always been very hands on in his ventures and his usual business involved visiting factories and workplaces under the control of his company, checking inventories and scrutinizing records, and attending meetings that involved way too much drinking, although Castiel usually abstained. Today though, as it had been for weeks now, Castiel's attention was not on his work. It hadn't been ever since that young green-eyed beauty had sauntered into his life.

At morning tea, when Luke reminded Castiel that he was scheduled to fly to Detroit the following week, Castiel balked at the idea of being away from the house, (from Dean, his errant mind corrected him), for any length of time.

Castiel brooded through lunch, and by 3pm, Luke had become so obviously frustrated with his lack of focus that Castiel suggested that he should get a driver to take him home early. Luke however, chose to drive Castiel home himself, and spent the entire drive sending concerned glances in his direction.

Three miles from the turn off to his estate, Castiel suddenly grabbed Luke by the arm and demanded he stop the car.

“Back up,” Castiel directed.

Luke obeyed. He'd barely stopped the car before had Castiel leaped out and was peering in through the windows of a sleek black car that was parked on the shoulder of the road.

Luke came up behind him, his hand on the firearm under his coat.

“What is it, Castiel?”

“It's the impala."

"What does that mean?" Luke asked, confused.

"I gave it to Dean. Why is it parked here? And where is he?"

Luke rolled his eyes, but remained with Castiel as he followed a crude pathway that cut through the brush at the side of the road and terminated at the crest of a deep valley. Castiel stopped short when he reached a clearing in the forest, momentarily frozen in place as he watched the scene in front of him.

There was a towel laid out over the forest floor, and Dean lay on top of it on his back straddled by a shirtless blonde girl who was very energetically kissing him.

When Luke pushed up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder, Castiel turned and slipped away, grateful that the pair was too engrossed in their intimate activities to notice he'd ever been there.

Wordlessly, the two men retreated to their car and Luke took off again towards home.

After a few moments of heavy silence, Luke tried to speak, but Castiel cut him off.

“Don't.” Castiel intoned, staring out the car window and cursing himself furiously as he fought back the foolish tears that stung behind his eyes.

* * *

Castiel sat in the lounge nursing a glass of well-aged scotch when Dean walked in the door just half an hour later. Castiel nodded curtly at him as he collapsed into an over-stuffed chair. He wore the same well-worn jeans and navy blue shirt that he'd been wearing in the forest. There were a few small pieces of foliage still stuck to his clothes and hair and his beautiful features were still painfully distorted by purple and yellow bruises.

“I don't think either of us thought things through very well, Dean. These bruises on your face will take weeks to heal completely and I've ignored two calls from the school already today. I'm afraid you're going to have to speak with your father, after all.”

Dean didn't reply. He pulled at a loose thread on his shirt.

“You can't exactly keep up the pretense of staying at a friend's place for another three weeks, Dean,” Castiel said calmly. “I'll come with you. I can help you explain to your father...”

“Forget it Cas. I can take care of my own problems.” Dean growled, kicking the footrest over as he rose, and stormed out the door.

* * *  
Castiel spent the next half hour in his office pulling absently on his Newton's Cradle with several newspapers spread out on his desk. He checked his watch. It was 6.30 and the sun was setting. Castiel would normally have spent this time before dinner reading, but he found he couldn't focus. After he'd read the same paragraph a dozen times and still hadn't any idea what it said, Castiel gave up and went down to the kitchen.

Chef was deftly tossing handfuls of fresh ingredients into a pan that contained rice and smelled heavenly. He registered surprise at Castiel's presence, and when he became flustered and knocked a bowl onto the floor, Castiel moved out into the sitting room. He sat at an elegant black piano and began nimbly fingering the keys, slipping into a familiar melody.

After some time and sensing that it must be time for dinner, Castiel turned down the piano lid and rose. He almost tripped over his feet when he noticed Dean leaning idly against the doorway and smiling softly. The tension that had been so apparent in his body earlier had completely evaporated.

“That's really something, Cas.”

“So you are not under house arrest I see.”

“Nah. Dad's not even home. I guess he's having dinner out, seeing as I'm not there to make it for him. I figured you and me could have dinner together.” Dean webbed his fingers endearingly.

“Of course. And just in time I'd say.”

Dean waited for Castiel and followed him up the stairs to the dining room just as Rogers was putting out the first course.

“Escargot, sirs. And if you'll pardon me, Mr Novak, Chef was very concerned that you went into the kitchen earlier because you are unhappy with his performance. He's worked himself up into a bit of a lather. What shall I tell him?”

“Tell Chef his food is excellent. I was merely filling in the time before dinner.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Geez, Cas. You've got you're servants on edge. Was Chef expecting a flogging or a trip to the dungeon or something?”

“He's a little highly strung, like all particularly creative people. Now, eat your snails.” Castiel said.

Dean grimaced his way through the entree, finishing every morsel, and then moaned obscenely around the delicate risotto.

After Dean had devoured two enormous slices of lemon meringue pie from his plate and Castiel's, he stretched expansively and Castiel tried not to stare at the lean pull of muscle and the hint of smooth belly underneath. He lowered his eyes to hide the longing he was sure was plainly apparent in them.

“I guess I'll be off to the cottage then,” Dean rose reluctantly and lingered at the table. “Maybe I could watch some television here while you read for a bit...”

“You'll spend the night, Dean.” Castiel said lightly.

Dean's relief was palpable. “I was hoping you'd say that. Actually I packed a bag with some clothes and stuff in case you did.” Dean laughed, and Castiel flushed deeply when he added, “You wanna watch out, Cas. A guy could get used to living here in luxury with you.”

Before he retired for the evening, while Dean was in the spare room watching a movie, Castiel spoke to his staff and made it very clear that Dean was to be treated as a very important guest.

*   *   *

On Wednesday, when Castiel arrived home from work, Dean was waiting for him at the door with one of Maria's delicious muffins in each hand. He crammed one into his mouth and the other he handed wordlessly to Castiel. Later, when Castiel inquired of his staff, he was informed that Dean hadn't left the house, but had filled the day tucked away in the spare room watching cable television, enjoying delicious restaurant-quality food and being waited on hand and foot.

Castiel felt slightly disgusted with himself at the enormous sense of relief that washed over him at this, but he had found himself becoming almost accustomed to the intensity of these new-found emotions.

On Thursday, despite his staff's assurances that the impala hadn't left the garage, Dean missed dinner; Castiel ate alone and with no appetite. When Dean still hadn't appeared by nine o'clock, Castiel set out for the cottage, his heart in his throat.

As he traversed the illuminated pool area he smelt the distinctively cloying scent of marijuana. His shoulders stiffening, he took the several steps down to the grassy lawn that fronted the darkened cottage.

“Hey, Cas.”

Castiel was certain he had felt Dean before he'd heard him. Either way, Dean's presence triggered a tangible warmth that spread through his body and settled in his belly. At first, Castiel could only make out the orange glow of a hand-rolled cigarette, but as his eyes adjusted to the dim light he could see that Dean lay out on the soft grass, his arm slung casually behind his head, the joint dangling seductively from between his lips.

“Dean.” Castiel lowered himself onto one of the wrought iron garden chairs nearby. “I don't like you doing drugs.”

Dean snorted. “It's not drugs, man, it's just pot. Don't be so uptight. You really need to relax a little. Here,” Dean took a long deliberate drag from the cigarette and blew out a long lazy draught of smoke, “have some.” He held the joint out to Castiel.

“No, thank-you Dean.” Castiel said quietly, his hands rested primly on his lap.

Dean took another drag from the cigarette and then pressed it into the grass. “Fine, Cas. Better?”

Castiel nodded. “Thank-you, Dean.”

“Come here,” Dean said, patting the grass next to him. Lie down next to me. There's a lot of stars in the sky tonight.”

Castiel hesitated, but then complied, lying down on the grass next to the younger man, but being careful to leave a wide berth between the two of them. Dean was right. The night was cloudless and moonless and the stars illuminated the night sky beautifully.

“It's wonderful, Dean,” Castiel whispered, a little awed.

“When I was younger I would look up at the stars and dream about being out there.” Dean said, and the usual brashness in his voice was absent.

Castiel turned his head to look at the boy, at the swell of his lips, the perfect curve of his jaw and his too-long lashes. “Do you still want to be an astronaut?” he asked.

Dean turned his face to Castiel's. “No, I didn't want to be an astronaut Cas, that's not what I meant. I just wanted to be free, floating amongst the stars, like stardust, or something.”

Castiel frowned. “That sounds lonely, Dean. Couldn't you be free here? Don't you think there are other ways to be free?”

Dean smiled. “What did you have in mind, Cas?”

Castiel's head swam, his gaze fixed on Dean's languid, green-eyed stare. His body turned towards Dean, shifting closer, as if it were inevitable.

Suddenly hurried footsteps sounded on the pave-stones and a torch light shone on the grass, and the spell was broken.

“Excuse me, Mr Novak. I'm sorry to interrupt, sir. But there's a situation that needs your attention.” It was Luke Nixon.

Dean scowled, and turned away.

Castiel's face fell. He pulled himself up from the grass. “Come inside, Dean. I'll tell Rogers to bring you dinner in the dining room.”

Castiel headed off towards the house but Luke remained, watching Castiel leave before turning back to Dean. He looked down at him contemptuously.

“I expect that you'll be moving out soon, Mr Winchester, now that you're father is obviously no longer in Mr Novak's employ. Please let me know if there is anything I can do to expedite your departure.”

Then Luke turned and followed Castiel's path to the house.

Dean lingered on the lawn for several minutes before going back into the house. At first he went to the dining room intending to eat his dinner, but the drugs had left him feeling restless and curiosity got the better of him. He couldn't resist heading to Castiel's office in the distant west-wing.

If Castiel's business was concluded then he could come and sit with Dean while he ate dinner, and if not, Dean would find out a little bit more about the business dealings that the enigmatic older man kept so close to his chest

As he approached Castiel's office he could hear muffled voices coming from inside the room. Castiel wasn't alone. Then there was a sound like someone groaning, and Dean's heart began to race. Furtively, he turned the knob and pushed the door open a sliver.

What Dean saw shocked him so deeply that he let out an involuntary gasp.


	3. the devil you know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ
> 
> I have to warn that there are some graphic depictions of violence in this chapter. 
> 
> I hope no one is offended, but this is where the story took me.

 

What Dean saw shocked him so deeply that he let out an involuntary gasp.

 

Inside Castiel's office, there were several ornately carved wooden chairs, which had probably cost thousands of dollars each. Now, through the narrow opening, Dean saw a man slumped in one of these chairs, his hands cable tied at his front; his shirt-front was stained a deep reddish-brown and his face was bloodied and beaten raw. Incredibly, despite his injuries, the man was conscious, his mouth secured with electric tape and his eyes wide with desperation and terror.

 

Dean heard Castiel's voice then, low and menacing as he'd never heard it before, almost a growl. “You force my hand, Anders. You stupid _disloyal_ creature. You leave me no choice.”

 

Dean pushed open the door a little further and took in the image of Castiel. His eyes were narrowed and his jaw set and there was a coldness to his handsome features that made his appearance alien to Dean. Worst of all, Castiel brandished a cruel-looking knife, which he pointed at the man's throat, depressing, but not breaking the skin.

 

Before Dean could fully process the appalling scene playing out in front of him, Castiel pushed the knife deeply into the man's throat. The man let out an abortive cry as Castiel carved the length of his neck, severing his throat completely.

 

Dean gagged as blood gushed from the wound and spread thickly across his front, coating Catiel's knife and hand and arm. Dean's eyes followed the path of blood as it splattered onto the ornate wooden chair and the floor below that, he noted numbly, was covered with a large square of protective plastic sheeting.

He lifted his eyes at the same moment as Castiel's eyes met his, wide with alarm.

 

Covering his mouth, Dean staggered down the hallway. He half jumped, half stumbled down the stairs, gaining momentum as he went and dashed into the garage; he tore open the door to the impala, scrambled inside and roared down the driveway like the hounds of hell were at his heels. He didn't stop looking over his shoulder until he was ten minutes away from the estate.

 

Dean drove for an indeterminate period of time, numbly oblivious to everything but the steady flow of asphalt under the low glare of the car's headlights.

 

Abruptly, he slammed the brake and the car skidded to a halt. After a pause he shifted gears and turned the huge black car around completely.

 

It was late when Dean pulled into the parking lot of a local tavern. He'd been there once before, with his father, when he'd applied for the job at the Novak estate. His head dropped on the steering wheel as he choked out a sob.

 

* * *

 

Luke Nixon approached the bar where Dean sat nursing a beer. Dean's head was bowed. Luke stood beside him at the bar and motioned to the bartender who briskly poured him a large glass of scotch and water.

 

“How did you find me?” Dean asked into his beer.

 

“The owner is a … friend. He called to let me know there was an under-aged kid at the bar who looked an awful like the delinquent Winchester. It's a small town Dean, and Mr Novak runs it.” Luke responded, nodding to the bartender and taking his drink.

 

“Did Cas send you?”

 

“He sent me to make sure you left town quietly.” Luke responded, nodding to the bartender and taking his drink. “You should be grateful. It's far more leeway than most would get, under the circumstances.”

 

“Right,” Dean nodded, drained his glass and slammed it on the bar. “I was already on my way. You can all just keep your fucking pants on.”

Luke chuckled darkly. “Don't kid a kidder, Dean. That shit might fly with Castiel, but you and I both know that if you'd wanted to leave you would have left. You wouldn't have holed up conspicuously in the same bar we interviewed that deadbeat father of yours.”

Dean turned to face the man, his jaw set. Despite the difference in age, the blond man was shorter and a little slighter than Dean. Dean balled his hands into fists but kept them at his side.

 

“So I'll sweeten the pot. Keep the car. You earned it. Watching you strut around and try to ingratiate yourself to Castiel,” Luke sneered, “well, it was a great source of amusement to both him and me.”

 

Before Luke could react, Dean had swung his fist and struck Luke savagely in the face. The older man staggered from the impact, and blood began to ooze from his nose.

 

Luke touched his hand to his face incredulously, and examined the sticky red fluid on his fingers. The bartender pulled an ancient-looking shotgun from underneath the bar and aimed it directly at Dean's chest.

 

Some of the other patrons of the bar slipped out quietly while others cowered in place. Dean held his breath as the bartenders eyes moved from Dean to Luke, his shoulder twitching.

 

“Stop!”

 

All three men turned abruptly towards the shouted command.

 

Castiel stood at the door to the tavern, a tan trench-coat over his shoulders. His hair was disheveled and his tie was askew but his presence demanded complete authority.

 

“Put the gun away, Boris.” Castiel said, and Boris immediately obeyed, his shoulders drooping with relief.

 

Castiel turned his eyes to Luke, his expression cold. “Get in the car and go back to the house.”

 

Luke's posture was defiant, but he lowered his eyes and Castiel watched him silently as he stalked out.

 

“Dean, we need to talk.” Castiel's voice was gruff.

 

Dean's sagged a little and he sat back down on the stool. “What the fuck, Cas?” he asked in a small voice.

 

Castiel moved towards Dean, his palms raised as if in supplication. Boris suddenly became absorbed with straightening the liquor bottles at the rear of the bar.

 

“Will you come for a drive with me, Dean? I would like to speak with you in a more private venue.”

 

“You'll excuse me if I'm not falling over myself to be in a restricted space with you Cas, considering...”

 

Castiel looked pained. “I just want to talk.”

 

“Sure. Is that what you told that poor bastard you just skewered, Cas?” 

 

Castiel frowned. “We can talk here if you'd feel more comfortable.” He sat stiffly on the stool next to Dean.

 

Dean looked around the bar, it was now deserted apart from the bartender, all the other patrons having quietly exited in the aftermath of the brief stand-off. He sighed shallowly and pulled himself further up onto the chair, increasing the distance between himself and Castiel. “Fine, but can you keep a leash on trigger happy over there?”

 

“I'm sorry, Dean. I'm sorrier than you will probably ever fully come to comprehend that you had to see that.”

 

Dean shook his head. “So you're not sorry for filleting that poor sap, just that I saw it.”

 

Castiel bowed his head and examined his fingers. “He wasn't a good person, Dean. He wasn't innocent, if that's what you're concerned about.”

 

Dean laughed humourlessly. “You just don't get it do you Cas?”

 

Castiel looked distressed. “Dean, surely you can't think I would ever do you harm?”

 

“Well, geez Cas. It had crossed my mind.” Dean pulled himself up onto the bar and reached over to grasp a large bottle of scotch and poured it into his empty beer glass. Boris noticed but didn't comment.

 

“Dean, you're not of age-”

 

“Really Cas?” Dean arched an eyebrow and Castiel stopped short.

 

“He was a bad guy, Dean.”

 

“Are you a bad guy, Cas?”

  
Castiel sighed deeply. “Yes I suppose I am, Dean.”

 

Dean took a long swig from his glass and spluttered a little as the fiery liquid hit the back of his throat.

 

“Will you come back to the estate with me?”

 

“I'd have to be crazy to do that Cas, wouldn't I?”

 

“I promise I will always keep you safe, Dean.” Castiel put his hand over Dean's where it lay on the bar. Dean didn't pull away.

 

Green eyes met blue, and for the second time that night Castiel felt that indefinable pull. Dean leaned in imperceptibly but then he swayed a little and Castiel realised how drunk he was.

 

“Will you let me take you home?” Castiel asked apprehensively.

 

“Alright,” Dean said.

 

Castiel put his hand out to help Dean up, but was pushed away.

 

Outside, the temperature had dropped significantly, and when Dean staggered heavily, Castiel put his arm around his back, pulling him in close and supporting him over to the impala.

 

“I need the keys, Dean.”

 

  
Dean leaned on the side of the car and pressed his face into the cold metal. “They're in my pants, Cas,” he slurred.

 

Castiel's brow furrowed, and when Dean didn't move, he reached into the other man's jean's pocket. The pocket was empty. He reached around to the other side and Dean giggled drunkly. “So's true. You just wanna get in my pants.”

 

Castiel located the keys in the other pocket and pulled them out. “What?” he asked.

 

“What?” Dean replied sleepily.

 

Castiel paused. “Never mind.”

 

He unlocked the door and gently maneuvered Dean into the passenger seat. By the time Castiel had turned the ignition, Dean was asleep, snoring softly and pressing warmly into his side.

 

* * *

 

When Dean woke the next morning it was well past noon and there were two tablets and a tall glass of water on his bedside cabinet.

 

He took the tablets and drained the glass and lay back down in bed until he heard the door open. Peeking out from under the covers he discovered that it was Maria, and she carried a tray full of breakfast delicacies: hot buttered toast, scrambled eggs, a roasted tomato, sausages, an enormous stack of bacon and a glass of juice.

 

Maria placed the tray next beside him and gently patted him over the covers.

 

“Mr Novak asked me to take good care of you, Dean. The doctor is coming around in a little while. Mr Novak insisted on it, he said you'd been smoking marijuana and drinking alcohol last night.” Maria shook her head. “It breaks my heart that you should treat yourself so. You have your whole life ahead of you. And you're such a handsome boy.”

 

Dean pulled the covers down and through the blinding pain in his head he was able to discern real sincerity in Maria's expression.

 

Maria patted him again. “I'll let you know when the doctor is here. In the meantime, eat something, child!”

 

As he ate, and the medication eased the pain in his head, Dean contemplated the affectionate concern the older woman had shown him. It made him feel comfortable, safe even, like it must feel to have a mother fuss over you.

 

Nothing, though, like the deep warmth and almost giddy joy he felt when he was with Castiel, or even when his thoughts turned to Castiel.

 

The previous night's events were very hazy. Dean had smoked a lot of weed and he'd drank way to much beer and hard liquor. But try as he might, he couldn't deny the memory of the brutal scene he'd witnessed. And try as he might, he couldn't shake the image of Castiel's eyes, wide and blue, as he'd brandished that evil-looking knife above blood stained shirtsleeves.

 

And worst of all, Dean couldn't begin to fathom his own actions the previous night. How had he deliberately made his way back to that bar, and then allowed Castiel to bring him back to the estate? How could he possibly have turned around the car and sought to reunite with the same man who'd brutally murdered another in cold blood only hours before? And holy shit, he most definitely had not flirted with him at any point!

Dean crunched down on a piece of bacon and wondered how he was sitting placidly and eating a plateful of breakfast food under the same roof as that self-same man. Had he gone mad?

 

“He's like a father to me” he whispered to himself, knowing even as he formed the words that they were not even remotely true.

 

 

 


	4. my bloody valentine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more repercussions from the events of the other night
> 
> and a cock-blocking tree

 

After the doctor gave the all clear, Dean headed down to the cottage with his toothbrush and his few other belongings.

 

He'd told Maria to tell Castiel that he needed some privacy to sort some things through. Of course he should go to the police, or at least get the hell out of dodge, but this was the best he could manage. And even this felt like a huge accomplishment.

 

There was no sign that his father had been in the place since he'd seen him last and even though it certainly wasn't the first time his dad had disappeared for a few weeks without explanation, it turned out to be the quietest, loneliest night he could remember.

 

Dean returned to school the next day, skipping breakfast with Cas. By mid-morning his growling stomach was cause for amusement in English. During the next class a voice over the intercom demanded his presence in the office.

 

Dean took his time getting there, all the while thinking furiously through his recent actions. Alana Powell had let him touch her breasts under the bleachers on Monday. And last week he'd cut class most days to smoke cigarettes in the small wooded area behind the school with some other kids. Maybe someone had talked. Dean squared his shoulders for a fight.

 

But when he arrived, one of the women behind the counter simply handed him a fat brown paper bag. The bag contained an enormous piece of home-made chocolate cake and a generous ham and salad sandwich. 'For Dean Winchester' was printed in uniform lettering on the bag.

 

Dean felt an infuriating flush of warmth through his body. He ate the food and spent the rest of the day trying not to think about Castiel coming to school in his expensive suit and tie and delivering his lunch just for Dean, while the women in the office swooned over him.

 

By the end of the school day the sky had darkened and a peculiar and eerie calm, the kind that normally preceded a summer storm, prevailed. A few of Dean's friends invited him over to watch the lightning with some beers, an invitation he should have readily accepted. But as the low rumble of thunder sounded on the horizon, he brushed his friends off and took the impala straight back to the estate. He fought the impulse to go straight to the main house, and silently berated himself for even having had it.

 

The cottage was just as he'd left it, again no sign of his father having returned, and when Dean dug around in the cupboards for something to eat, he found only a bag of flour, a packet of sultanas, salt and some bottles of sauce. 

 

Dean heard the first fat drops of rain on the roof.

 

In the fridge, there was butter, several bottles of beer and some milk that was so far past it's best before date that it looked more like yoghurt. Dean tipped it into the sink in disgust.

 

He grabbed a beer, uncapped it and downed it in three gulps before reaching for another. He finished the second beer before grabbing the packet of sultanas.

 

Shoving a handful of sultanas into his mouth Dean went into the tiny room that had served as his bedroom. He dug around under the mattress until he found a porno magazine and settled on the bed. Before he had a chance to open it, there were four sharp knocks on the cottage door.

 

Dean's heart leapt to his throat. When he pulled the door open, Castiel was on the doorstep in his tan trench-coat, water dripping from his hair.

 

“May I come in, Dean?”

 

“Well, it's your house, Cas.” Dean said gruffly and stood aside.

 

Castiel stepped into the room. Dean stuffed another handful of sultanas into his mouth and chewed them aggressively.

 

“I'm not sure how much you remember of the other night, Dean, but I thought we should talk.”

 

“I remember enough.”

 

“And you're still here.”

 

“Where would I go, Cas? My dad's AWOL, I got no money and I ain't even graduated high school yet.”

 

Castiel nodded and looked at his hands. “Would you consider coming back up to stay at the house?”

 

“Well, it'd really piss off Luke, so from that point of view, maybe I will.”

 

Castiel smiled ruefully. "Well, I admit he is not your biggest fan. But after all, you did assault him, Dean.”

 

“Yeah well, he asked for it,” Dean muttered.

 

“He was merely trying to bring you home to me, Dean, I think it was probably just misplaced anger on your part.”

 

Dean snorted. “Dude, he's clearly not being honest with you.”

 

“He's my brother, Dean. And there's no reason for him to be deceitful with me.”

 

“He's an asshat. And if it was him and not you that was the crazy mother with the knife, I wouldn't take the risk of sleeping anywhere near him.”

 

“Well, as you say, I am the crazy mother.” Castiel affected finger quotations around the words. “And I believe you know I would never hurt you. So please, come up to the main house.”

 

“Why, Cas?” Dean exclaimed. “Why do you care if a piece of shit, dumb-ass, white-trash high school kid comes and stays in your fancy house? Do you think you owe me something for not squealing? Because I don't know what your beef was with Stiffy McMincemeat the other night, but I ain't no snitch. And I'm not that fucking stupid, besides.”

 

Dean thrust another handful of sultanas into his mouth and slumped angrily into an armchair.

 

Castiel opened and closed his mouth. Then he knelt down beside Dean and regarded him intently for a moment.

 

“I am not here trying to buy your silence, Dean.” He spoke slowly, as if measuring his words. “I like it when I am with you. I like it when we are together. And you must concede you are more comfortable at the house. I can look after you there.”

Dean met his eyes. They were so blue, and Castiel was so close. And why were Castiel's eyes suddenly fixed on Dean's lips?

 

Dean closed his own eyes to clear his head of the inappropriate thoughts he was having. Since when had two beers left him so screwy?

 

“You're a strange cat, Cas.” Dean patted Castiel's cheek. He was going for casual but it came out too intimate. Heat flashed in Castiel's eyes and then he was closing the distance between them and their lips met.

 

Castiel's lips were soft, softer than he had imagined, still wet with rainwater, and warm. And the tingle of electricity Dean felt went straight to his groin.

 

Then Dean's hand moved to the back of Castiel's neck and his lips parted in invitation.

 

Suddenly there was an explosion. Glass shattered, wood crunched, metal groaned and the world was crashing in around them. A shower of sparks rained down behind Castiel and he grabbed Dean, burying Dean's face protectively in the crook of his neck.

 

When the commotion had calmed down, Castiel gently pulled away and Dean lifted his head. The storm had knocked the power out and the room was shrouded in darkness. In the half-light of approaching dusk Dean could make out enough to tell that a tree had crashed through the roof and taken out part of the wall in the cottage. Rainwater was gushing in through the gaping hole.

 

Dean looked at Castiel, wide eyed and panting. “Okay, you've convinced me," he whispered.

 

* * *

 

 


	5. sex and violence

Abrupt shouts erupted from outside and several men stormed in wielding guns.

 

“Stand down. It's just the storm.” Castiel hissed.

 

The men holstered their weapons and Dean couldn't help but wonder where they'd all come from. Castiel gripped Dean behind the shoulder and pulled him out of the chair. The two passed through the phalanx of armed men, out into the pouring rain and trudged wordlessly, shoulder to shoulder, up to the main house.

 

The house was a bustle of activity as the staff seemed to have multiplied exponentially and rushed around lighting candles. The stove and oven were gas fired so chef was able to prepare his usual gourmet meal and Dean sat beside Castiel at the enormous table, sharing dinner illuminated by candle-light.

 

Something had shifted between them in the cottage. Castiel sat stiffly and looked noticeably uncomfortable. Dean continually sneaked glances at Castiel while they ate but the older man steadfastly refused to make eye-contact with him. Even the staff noticed the strange tension in the room. When Rogers brought in the entrees his eyes switched from one man to the other before he asked tentatively “Is everything alright, sir?”

 

“Fine.” Castiel responded tersely.

 

There were several interruptions during the meal as various staff came in apologetically to make inquiries about damage to the cottage and black-out contingencies. And throughout, barely a word passed between Castiel and Dean. Inwardly, Dean's entire body was buzzing with anticipation and there was a hot ache of arousal low in his gut effected by the near proximity of the other man.

 

When dessert arrived, Castiel excused himself tightly and retreated down the hall.

 

Dean's heart sank, disappointment and rejection crushing him. He couldn't eat dessert. He left the dinner table for his bedroom.

 

The size and opulence of the room still awed him, it was so unlike anything Dean had ever known and so unlike anything he'd ever expected to have. His sheets were turned down and there was a pair of pyjamas laid out neatly on the bed, along with underwear and a neatly folded towel. 

  

Dean snatched up the towel and headed to his private bathroom. The water pressure in the shower was divine, but Dean couldn't concentrate on anything other than the memory of the intoxicating warmth of Castiel's lips. Dean could no longer deny his feelings for Castiel, unexpected though they were. And there was no mistaking the unspoken desire in the older man's eyes when Dean caught him staring. So why did Castiel reach out only to pull away again?

 

Dean yanked off the tap with mounting frustration.

 

Back in the bedroom, Dean lay on the bed and thought vainly about the porno magazine lying somewhere in the wreckage of the cottage. 

 

Resolutely, Dean rose from the bed. He knew that he would more than likely royally screw himself, but it wasn't in his nature to back down from a challenge. 

 

He strode purposefully down the hall and stood outside Castiel's bedroom door. 

 

He knocked firmly three times. When there was no immediate response, Dean pushed it opened and stepped inside. 

 

Castiel's bedroom made his own luxurious room look like the cheap room at a motel six. It was stupidly large and the bed was a huge oval number right in the centre of the room. Dean couldn't help but wonder how many women, or men, Castiel had taken to that impressive bed, and he cringed at the thought.

 

The walls were covered with paintings in ornate gilded frames, and some of the paintings looked familiar, like the works of art he had seen in an art appreciation lesson.  Before he could further admire the room, Dean heard the sound of running water and followed it. 

 

The bathroom door was ajar, and through it Dean caught sight of Castiel, and his heart stuttered momentarily. Castiel stood at the bathroom sink, his back to the door and instead of his usual expensive suit, he was dressed casually in a cotton tee-shirt and boxers.

 

Castiel froze, toothbrush in his mouth, when his eyes met Dean's in the mirror.

 

“I knocked.” Dean said, suddenly self-conscious.

 

Castiel calmly rinsed out his mouth and placed the toothbrush neatly in its holder. He took up a hand towel to wipe his face. Then he turned to Dean.

 

"I want to know what's going on here, Cas." Dean's words conveyed a boldness he didn't feel.

 

Castiel regarded Dean intently for a long moment. Dean squirmed under the scrutiny but didn't break eye contact. If Dean was anything, he was no coward, and damn-it-all to hell if he wasn't going to face this thing head on.

 

“I wouldn't have chosen this life for myself, Dean." Castiel said quietly. "But it was my family legacy to take over my father's business, being that I was the only biological child my father was ever able to produce. And as much as I envy my step-siblings their freedom, I suppose I must be good at this because I've increased the family's wealth many times over.” 

 

Dean stepped into the room. “I don't know about that, Cas. I meant what was going on here.” He gestured between himself and Castiel. 

 

Castiel frowned and studied his hands. "I don't think you can fully understand what you are asking, Dean."

 

Dean took another step towards him, close enough that he could feel Castiel's body warmth, and it was all he could do to maintain intelligent thought. 

 

"You don't think what I saw the other night was enough to clue me in a bit?" Dean smirked. 

 

"What you saw that night, that is the real me Dean. I am a killer, plain and simple, and I'm good at it. And I have been okay with that for a long time. Until you, Dean. I did not want you to see that side of me. I didn't want you, of all people, to see me for what I really am.”

 

"Did you ever consider that me and Dad have got up to some pretty shady shit over the years, Cas? I ain't no angel, either, you know." 

 

Dean closed the rest of the distance between them. Castiel's breathing quickened and his pupils noticeably dilated.

 

“I'm trying to tell you that shit doesn't matter to me.” 

 

Castiel shrank back to the sink behind him.

 

“You're young, Dean. And beautiful. You can do better than this, better than me. I will not be this selfish, not with you.” Castiel's voice was taut. 

 

"So you'd be okay if I left, Cas, right now?" Dean licked his lips, and Castiel's eyes followed the movement, mesmerized. "You'd be okay with me finding someone else, another guy, another girl?" Castiel's shoulders stiffened perceptibly. "You'd be okay with me kissing, touching, fucking someone else, Cas? 'Cos if you would, I'll be out of your hair in a fucking flash. But you gotta say it to my face."

 

Dean's chin lifted in challenge. He was all in, but like the excellent poker player he was, Dean was sure of his hand.

 

Sure enough, in a breath, Castiel had gripped his shoulder and his lips were on Dean's.

 

This time when they kissed, it was not the tentative, explorative kisses of before. This time the kisses were heated and desperate; Castiel's hand curled behind Dean's neck and Dean clutched the soft fabric of Castiel's shirt at his back. Dean's tongue licked into Castiel's mouth and his teeth nibbled at Castiel's plush lips.

 

Castiel pulled away. Panting brokenly, he tugged at Dean's tee-shirt and tore it up and over his head, before calloused palms reverently stroked the perfect warm flesh of Dean's torso. 

 

Dean's hands moved to press into the hard bulge at the front of Castiel's pants. Castiel moaned wantonly as his own hands pushed down the back of Dean's jeans to cup his ass and pull him closer. The friction was maddening. 

 

“I want you, Dean. I need you.” Castiel panted between lush, open-mouthed kisses. “I feel like I'm going mad with the need for you.”

 

Wildly, Dean dropped to his knees, then mouthed at the hot flesh of Castiel's erection through his underwear.

 

Castiel threw his head back and cried out, open-mouthed and reeling with the intense pleasure of Dean's warm wet mouth.

 

Dean tugged Castiel's underwear down, freeing his cock. He lightly traced the taut flesh and gently fingered the wet slit. Then he put his tongue to it. It tasted bitter and salty and not how he'd expected at all, but Castiel was writhing, moaning above him and Dean felt completely, utterly, wantonly exhilarated.

 

“Oh God, Dean. Feels so good,” Castiel rasped, curling his fingers through Dean's hair. Finally, finally this was happening.

 

Dean licked around the head of Castiel's cock before taking almost the whole length of him in his mouth, grasping and stroking what he couldn't swallow.

 

Castiel felt like heaven, and Dean wanted to know all of him, to taste all of him.

 

Abruptly, Castiel's body tensed and he tugged urgently at Dean's hair. But instead of pulling away, Dean took his cock into his mouth invitingly, and then Castiel's body convulsed and he gasped Dean's name like a benediction as he came.

 

Before Dean could fully grasp what was happening, he felt the force of his own climax overcome him, and he came, pulsing thickly into his own pants.

 

Both men collapsed to the floor. Castiel leaned back against the sink and Dean leaned heavily into Castiel, pressing his head firmly into the curve of Castiel's neck.

 

"Fuck, M'sorry Cas, couldn't hold on any longer - so hot," he said sleepily.

 

Castiel cradled Dean to his chest and lightly stroked his back. This was not Castiel's first sexual encounter, but it was the first one in which he'd been a fully willing participant and it was the first time he had climaxed with another person. The experience was utterly prodigious. At last he understood why the whole world seemed preoccupied with sex. He could almost forgive his father for the many occasions when he'd sent prostitutes to a teenage Castiel's bedroom, and for his father's vocal disappointment at his son's apparent lack of romantic interest.

 

They sat together like that until Castiel heard his phone sounding from his bedside cabinet. He gently pulled Dean up and led him out of the bathroom and deposited him in his bed. Ignoring the insistent trill of his phone, he pulled off Dean's soiled pants and wiped away the worst of the mess with some tissues as Dean snored softly. Then he covered him with blankets and extinguished the candle at the bedside table nearest to him.

 

Finally, he picked up the phone. "What?" he snarled.

 

 *               *              *

 

Dean awoke the next morning in Castiel's bed, in Castiel's enormous room, alone. He climbed out and wandered downstairs, expecting to find Castiel in the usual place at the breakfast table, but Maria was alone in the kitchen.

 

“Oh, Dean!” Maria cried cheerily. “Mr Novak wanted me to tell you he was sorry he wouldn't be able to join you for breakfast. He had an urgent business matter.”

 

“Okay, thanks Maria.”

 

Dean generally wasn't one to waste time worrying about the morning after the night before. If someone liked him, great. If not, there were plenty more fish in the sea. But Cas' absence that morning left Dean with a strange feeling of emptiness that he found he couldn't easily shake.

 

Nevertheless, he was hungry, and Maria was a fantastic cook. He ate a hearty breakfast and gratefully accepted the two fat brown paper bags of home-made delicacies that Maria handed him before he headed to the garage.

 

High school felt different to Dean that morning.

 

He'd always felt disconnected from the high-school experience of acne and teenage angst. But today he felt completely alienated, as if he were above it all now, after his night with Castiel.

 

Castiel who was larger than life, and older and handsome and dangerous and commanding.

 

Dean walked amidst the high-school cliques and clubs and petty concerns of homework and textbooks and he was untouched by it all. The teachers were still snide and sarcastic and the detentions were still tedious, but he hardly noticed any of it. All he could think about was Castiel, how he looked at Dean as if he were the most precious thing on Earth, and the certainty Dean felt in their connection.

 

In English, Dean was listlessly carving patterns into the wooden desk with his pocket knife when his teacher informed him that he was required in the office.

 

He pocketed his knife and strode out of the room. It was his father, surely, John had returned and was going to pull him out and move them on. He'd promised Dean he could stay this time and finish his schooling in one place, but how many times had he made promises to Dean that he'd proven himself unable to fulfill?

 

Well, he wouldn't go. Dean was 18 now, and there was no way for him to legally compel him. Cas would never make him. Cas would help him find Sam and they'd all live together like a real family. Dean's jaw was set, his back rigid.

 

When Dean arrived at the office he was ushered into the principal's room and was shocked to discover, instead of John, a grim-faced Castiel standing stiffly in the corner.

 

“Please take a seat,” the principal gestured to one of the worn leather seats in the room.

 

Dean remained standing. He glanced at Castiel. “Hey, Cas,” he said, suddenly feeling unreasonably anxious. A hard tangible lump grew in his throat.

 

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel's said gravely.

 

“Dean,” the principal's voice was equally solemn. “I'm very sorry to inform you that your father has been found, dead.”

 

Dean eyes flew to Castiel. Castiel's face registered such intense compassion and sympathy that he had to look away.

 

“Can we go home, please, Cas?” he asked hoarsely.

 

The principal seemed relieved and Dean wondered dully if it was because the news had been delivered or because Dean's own reaction was so muted.

 

Then Castiel's arm was around his shoulders and he was being steered gently out of the room, down the hall and the stairs and out into the parking lot. Castiel led Dean towards his own sleek modern car but Dean pulled back.

 

“I want to take the Impala.”

 

“Okay,” Castiel acquiesced, “but let me drive.”

 

Dean numbly handed the keys to Castiel and they drove together in silence for a while.

 

“Dean, I hope you will consider speaking to someone. I know an excellent psychologist, quite a brilliant woman. She also happens to be my sister...”

 

“How did he die?” Dean asked blandly.

 

“The police think he had probably had a heart attack. There is yet to be an autopsy.”

 

“How long's he been dead?”

 

“The police said maybe for several weeks.”

 

They drove in silence for a while. Dean watched as Castiel adroitly shifted gears with slim deft fingers. When they stopped at traffic lights Dean asked quietly, “Where'd they find him?”

 

“I am not certain about that, Dean.”

 

“Just tell me Cas, I'll find out easily enough.”

 

“He was in an abandoned building in the industrial precinct. He may have had an adverse reaction to narcotics.”

 

“So he was onto the hard stuff, then? That's the first I've heard of that. Stupid bastard.”

 

Castiel remained silent.

 

“What a fucking loser.” He added hoarsely.

 

Suddenly, Dean grabbed Castiel's coat and crumpled into his chest, sobbing furiously.

 

Castiel swerved off the road and pulled Dean tightly against him, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders and threading his fingers soothingly through his hair.

 

“He was a bastard and a drunk and the only reason I stayed with him was to atone for the fact that I hated him so much.” Dean muttered fiercely into Castiel's chest. “Fuck sake, Cas, what kind of person hates their own father?” 

 

They sat there like that for a long time, Castiel tenderly clasping the weeping boy to his chest until his tears finally subsided. Dean couldn't bring himself to pull away from Castiel and Castiel seemed content to stay as they were.

 

At length, they parted, and Castiel directed the impala back towards home, but Dean spent the remainder of the ride with his head on Castiel's shoulder.

 

Castiel didn't speak but put his hand over Dean's where it lay on his knee.

 

The car had barely stopped in the driveway when Dean leaped out of the door and started stalking up the steps. He stopped halfway when the wide front door swung open abruptly and Luke stepped outside. He looked taller and more imposing standing where he was at the top of the stairs, towering over Dean.

 

Luke stared down menacingly at Dean for a moment, before Castiel came up behind him and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder. On impulse, Dean turned and snaked his arms around Castiel's neck, pulling him into an embrace.

 

Taken by surprise at first, Castiel quickly responded, deepening the kiss, and when their tongues entwined, Dean almost completely forgot about Luke's presence, as well as all sense of time and space.

 

Dean pulled away and grasped Castiel's hand, towing him up the stairs, past Luke and into the house. Right now, all he could think about and all he wanted to feel was the ecstatic press of Castiel's mouth and body against his own. He would deal with his father's death tomorrow.

 

Luke watched as Castiel followed Dean into the house, nodding in acknowledgement to his brother as he passed by. Luke looked across the gardens to the distant line of trees that signaled the boundary of the Novak property.  He tapped out a cigarette and lit it. Luke drew the smoke deeply into his lungs as he heard the door slam in the house behind him. Castiel's bedroom, no doubt. He wondered if they would be done in time for dinner.

 

 

 

 

 


	6. let it bleed

Dean collapsed onto Castiel. Both men's bodies were sheened with sweat. Castiel dragged his nails lightly down the smooth damp skin of Dean's back. “Give me ten minutes and I'll be up for another go,” Dean said, his fingertips lazily tracing patterns across Castiel's chest.

 

“I won't,” Castiel murmured into the top of Dean's head. “I'm much much older than you Dean. I just don't have your stamina.”

 

“You're doing pretty well for an old guy,” he said lightly, kissing Castiel's chest and looking up at him from beneath lowered lashes. “I'm hungry,” Dean yawned, “come and have dinner with me.”

 

Dean rolled off Castiel and went into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he emerged a few minutes later, Castiel was only just climbing out of bed. Dean pulled on his boxers, tee-shirt and jeans and sat on the bed waiting. Castiel chose a pale blue long-sleeved dress shirt and black pressed pants from an extensive and precisely ordered wardrobe of similar clothes. He even pulled on matching shoes and socks.

 

“You don't have to dress up on account of me,” Dean said, gesturing to his own casual attire.

 

By the time they finally started dinner it was eight o'clock. Rogers brought in the entree and explained that Chef was most concerned that the jus had congealed. Castiel waved him away.

 

They held hands and ate in companionable silence.

 

During dessert Luke came into the dining room and asked permission to speak with Castiel in privacy.

 

“You may speak freely in front of Dean, Luke.” Castiel responded. “Dean and I have become lovers.”

 

Dean nearly choked on a mouthful of cake. Then smirked.

 

“I am aware of that.” Luke responded with a scowl. “As, no doubt, is the entire household, the town of Three Oaks and possibly the whole state of Michigan.”

 

Dean snorted and Luke's annoyance intensified when he saw Dean's cocky smile. He looked away.

 

“There are just some administrative matters that need attention, Castiel. Minor issues, but I need you to give me your opinion on them.”

 

“Do whatever you think is best, Luke.” Castiel replied dismissively. “Is that all?”

 

“Yes.” Luke turned to leave but Castiel called him back.

 

“I will be taking a few weeks away from work in August, Luke. Please rearrange my schedule accordingly.”

 

Luke opened his mouth and gaped, momentarily glancing at Dean and then back to Castiel before responding. “Yes, Castiel.”

 

“I've never taken time away before,” Castiel explained, after Luke had left. Then he added quietly: “I've never had any reason too. Until I met you Dean, my work was everything I had.”

 

Castiel held a forkful of his dessert out to Dean, who took it in his mouth. “What are we gonna do with your time off, Cas?”

 

“Whatever you want to do, Dean.” Castiel said.

 

“Mmmmm,” Dean considered for a moment. “I want to go back to the Grand Canyon. I want to go to New Orleans. And I want to go to Australia. Just for starters.”

 

“We can do all of that, Dean; whatever you want.”

 

“But most of all,” Dean continued, suddenly serious, “I want to find my brother.”

 

Castiel took both Dean's hands in his. “My every resource is at your disposal,” he said, then kissed Dean tenderly on the palms of his hands and on his forehead.

 

Dean blinked away the tears that had welled in his eyes. “Okay, so where are we off to tomorrow, then?” he asked lightly.

 

“Tomorrow you are off to school, and I to work. I'll organize something wonderful for the weekend, I promise.”

 

Castiel stood up and offered his hand to Dean. “Will you stay with me tonight?” he asked, with an almost shy smile.

 

Dean took his hand.

 

* * *

When Dean awoke the next morning, he discovered Castiel was already awake and watching him intently.

 

“Hey, good-looking,” Dean drawled sleepily and closed his eyes.

 

“You had a nightmare last night, Dean.”

 

“Did I? I don't remember that.”

 

Castiel put his hands on Dean's chest. “You were shouting and thrashing around. When you finally calmed down, I held you and you cried for a very long time. You don't remember that?”

 

“I don't know what to tell you, Cas.” Dean shrugged, his eyes closed.

 

“You have to go to school today, Dean.”

 

“I know it,” Dean mumbled into the pillow.

 

“And I want you to go to college."

 

Dean groaned. “You'll have to pay for a whole new building if you wanna get any college to take me on, Cas. Or you could make them an offer they can't refuse.” Dean opened his eyes and grinned at Castiel.

 

Castiel smiled back. “I can be very persuasive.”

 

Castiel pulled back the covers and ran his eyes appreciatively over Dean's semi-naked body.

 

“Go and get dressed for school. I'll be at the breakfast table, presently.”

 

Dean put his hand over his impressive morning erection and tugged on himself through his underwear. “Cas, you're gonna have to help me take care of this.”

 

“You're shameless, Dean.” Castiel said, but nevertheless he allowed Dean to pull him down onto the bed.

 

* * *

 

On arriving home from school, Dean headed for the 'parlour', as Maria ludicrously called it, where Castiel had recently taken to waiting for him in the afternoon.

 

As he approached, Dean could hear muffled voices coming from the room. One of the voices was deep and throaty, unmistakably Castiel, the other was a lilting feminine voice.

 

Dean strode into the room. “Hey what's up?” he asked, casting appraising eyes over the attractive red-head who was monopolizing Castiel's attention.

 

“Dean.” Castiel said. He stood and took Dean's hands in his own before leaning in to kiss him.

 

“This is Anna, my sister.”

 

“Oh, sister! Nice to meet you, Anna.”

 

“It's my pleasure, Dean,” Anna said smoothly. She smiled warmly at Dean and shook the hand he offered.

 

“Dean, you may remember Anna is a psychologist, actually she is celebrated in her field. And I have asked her to have a talk with you about these nightmares you've been having, and the death of your father.”

 

Dean grimaced. “Cas, this is not -”

 

“Dean do this for me once and I will not bother you with it again. You have my word.”

 

Dean pocketed his hands and scowled. “Okay, alright, fine.”

 

Anna indicated for Dean to sit in the chair opposite her. “I promise to make this as painless as possible, Dean.”

 

“Wait, what?  Now?” Dean looked down at Anna, then incredulously at Castiel.

 

“It grieves me to see you so distressed, Dean. I want to get on top of this as soon as possible.” Castiel sat down and pulled Dean down beside him.

 

Anna looked pointedly at Castiel.

 

“You may begin.” Castiel declared.

 

“Castiel, I think it might be best if I talk to Dean alone, that's how therapy usually works.”

 

“Oh, of course. My apologies.” Castiel squeezed Dean's hand and left.

 

When Castiel was safely out of earshot, Dean said, “Look Anna, I agreed to this for Cas. I owe him. But here's the thing, and I don't want you to take this the wrong way, I ain't having my head shrunk by anyone, Cas' sister or no.

 

“I understand, Dean. And your reticence is both understandable and to be expected, especially under the circumstances.”

 

“What circumstances?”

 

“You've recently lost your father, and whatever negative emotions you may harbour towards him, he was still your father and that is one of the strongest familial bonds.

 

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Look, this just isn't my thing, you know?”

 

“If you like, we can sit here in silence, Dean. That way Castiel will be satisfied and none the wiser. If you are determined not to talk, I cannot force you."

 

Dean leaned back into the chair and scrubbed his hand down his face. “I don't want to lie to Cas.”

 

Anna smiled gently at Dean.“It appears we are at an impasse.”

 

The two sat in silence for a few long minutes. Dean spoke first. “Okay, how about 'quid pro quo, Clarice'? I'll let you shrink my head if you tell me anything I want to know about Cas.”

 

Anna pursed her lips. “If you agree to talk with me, honestly, about your state of mind, and take my professional advice, I will endeavour to truthfully answer any question you ask about Castiel.”

 

“Okay, fine. I start. What was he like when he was a kid?”

 

“I never knew Castiel as a young child. When father adopted me Castiel was already fourteen. But he was a formidable figure, even then.”

 

“That's right. I'd forgotten Cas mentioned you were adopted.”

 

“We were all adopted, Dean. Luke, Gabe, Mike, Rafe and I; all except Castiel.”

 

“Well shit.”

 

“My turn. Can you tell me about these nightmares?”

 

“I haven't had these nightmares for a long time. I used to have them, sometimes, when I was younger. I've had one this week, that's all. Cas is just being crazy overprotective.”

 

“You've had this most recent dream since your father died?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“Tell me your earliest memory, Dean.”

 

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed. “So the cliché is true.”

 

“There was a fire.”

 

“How the fuck do you know about that?” Dean demanded.

 

“Castiel said you talked about it in your sleep. So I did some research. I'm here to help, Dean. My intentions are sincere.”

 

Dean set his jaw. “It's nothing more that a memory of a memory. I was real little.”

 

Anna nodded encouragingly.

 

Dean leaned back in the chair again, trying to force himself to relax. “I remember the sting of the smoke. And dad putting my baby brother into my arms. And stumbling out onto the cool grass. That's it.”

 

“And your house was destroyed?”

 

“Yeah, Mum took Sam and left. She blamed dad for the fire, I guess.”

 

“She left you behind?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“That must hurt.”

 

“I don't remember.”

 

“But that must hurt now, Dean, that knowledge.”

 

“It doesn't matter now.”

 

“I thought we agreed to speak candidly, Dean.”

 

Dean's hands curled into fists. “Well of course it fucking hurts! I was just a little kid. I hadn't even had a chance to fuck things up bad enough for her to reject me.” He took a deep breath in and slowly exhaled, calming himself.

 

“Now my turn. Did Cas have a lot of boyfriends, girlfriends?” Dean said, after a long pause.

 

Anna bowed her head and blushed. “Castiel never showed interest in others, sexually, despite father's best efforts.”

 

“Never?”

 

“Not until now.” Anna smiled.

 

“Goddam.”

 

“After your mother left, did your father treat you well, Dean?”

 

“No, he didn't fucking treat me well. He was a drunk and a bully. And I was a fucking piece of shit coward who never fought back. So there you have it.”

 

“The funny thing about people, Dean, is that we take our own weaknesses and folly and we burden our children with them. And despite the fact that a parent is horribly cruel and inadequate, we never quite stop seeking his love and approval.”

 

A tear rolled down Dean's cheek and he angrily swiped it away. “Okay, I get it. He was a shitty dad, but I'm still fucked up about his death, anyway. Are we done now?”

 

“If I agree to stop now, will you agree to speak with me again at another time?”

 

“I'll think about it, okay?”

 

They both stood and shook hands in parting, and Anna turned to leave. She stopped with her hand on the doorknob.

 

“Dean, it's obvious to me that you are deeply infatuated with my brother. I need you to understand that Castiel is ….” she trailed off and pressed her lips together thoughtfully. Then she began again, “Castiel is not like other men.”

 

“Yeah, I get that,” Dean said lightly.

 

“I don't know how well you know the nature of Castiel's business practises.” Anna said carefully. “Castiel is my brother and I love him, but you need to understand that he is a classic sociopath.”

 

Dean thrust his hands into his pockets. “Are you saying that Cas isn't capable of love?”

 

“No. But he isn't capable of loving you healthily, Dean, the way a person should be loved. A sociopath loves with a selfish intensity, with a devouring and all-consuming sort of love.”

 

Dean regarded the woman before him through narrowed eyes. “I don't think Cas-”

 

“He asked me not to wear make-up today, Dean. He didn't want me to look too pretty because he worries that your eyes will wander. And he asked me for strategies he could use in your relationship to be sure you wouldn't stray.”

 

With that, Anna turned to leave, and Dean sank back into the chair, chewing his lip thoughtfully.

 

* * *

 

When an hour had passed, Castiel went in search of Dean. He found him swimming laps in the pool. The late afternoon sun glistened over Dean's muscular arms and back as he stroked through the water.

 

Castiel knelt down at the edge of the pool and let his fingers dangle in the water, watching the ripples he made drift away in ever-widening concentric circles.

 

After several laps Dean swam over to the side of the pool where Castiel waited. Tiny droplets of water clung to his eye-lashes. Castiel leaned down and kissed them away.

 

“How was your session?”

 

“Anna says you're a sociopath.”

 

Castiel half-smiled and shook his head. “That's a fairly harsh assessment, but it sounds like Anna.”

 

Dean crossed his arms against the ledge of the pool. “She also says that she was adopted, and the others too, all except you.”

 

“Yes, that is true.”

 

“I guess your parents liked kids, huh?”

 

“My father's motivations were less honourable than that,” Castiel said flatly. He stood up. “Won't you come out of the pool now, Dean? You have homework to do, no doubt.”

 

“Come in the pool with me Cas, you've never swam with me.”

 

“Another time.”

 

Dean grimaced. His strong biceps flexed as he levered himself out of the pool and picked up his towel. He threw it over his head and vigorously rubbed his hair.

 

Castiel couldn't resist running his fingers down the hard wet contours of Dean's torso. He put his arm around Dean's naked shoulders and Dean leaned into him, wetting his tailored suit and nipping at his stubbled chin.

 

Castiel tenderly pressed his hand to Dean's jaw. “Homework first.”

 

But by the time they got upstairs, Dean's near-nakedness, his warm wet kisses and the tantalizing pressure of his body had weakened Castiel's resolve. Dean triumphantly led Castiel to his bedroom and pushed him down onto the bed. Then Dean went to Castiel's bedside cabinet and pulled out a small bottle of lube.

 

“I want to show you something I learned on that little computer pad thing. Now, lie back.”

 

Dean quickly worked off Castiel's pants and his boxers and then leaned in to press a kiss to Castiel's straining erection. "Gonna make you feel so good," he said.  

 

With slippery fingers he gently pressed inside Castiel's puckered hole while taking Castiel's hard cock into his mouth. Castiel groaned harshly as Dean's fingers found the round bulb of tissue they were searching for, and rubbed it.

 

Dean enthusiastically licked and sucked at Castiel's cock and stroked his prostate until Castiel convulsed, stiffened and moaned lowly as he orgasmed. Dean swallowed the salty cum, then climbed up Castiel's still prone body and straddled his abdomen.

 

He smiled jubilantly down at Castiel. “Well, how was that?'

 

“Can't speak,” Castiel croaked.

 

Dean's smile widened. “I'll take that as a compliment.”

 

Dean nestled into Castiel side until his breathing calmed and then Castiel was pulling Dean's head back with both hands so that he could look into his eyes.

 

“I love you, Dean Winchester.” Castiel said firmly. He reached down between them to grasp Dean's stiff cock. “Now, let me taste you.”

 

Dean eagerly shucked off his shorts and climbed up over Castiel. Castiel grasped Dean's ass and Dean pushed his cock into Castiel's waiting mouth. Dean gripped the bed head as he rode Castiel's mouth until he came, sobbing out Castiel's name and pulsing hotly over Castiel's tongue.

 

Castiel swallowed him up and licked him clean.

 

Dean crawled back down and settled onto Castiel again, limp and boneless. He buried his face into the crook of Castiel's neck. Then he put his mouth to Castiel's ear and whispered, almost inaudibly, “I love you, too.”

 

 


	7. sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chuck said it, endings are hard. I've really enjoyed the process of this, my first fanfic. I hope this has brought a little pleasure to my fellow destiel faithful. Destiel Forever!!!

Castiel couldn't put his trip to Detroit off any longer. Luke had become quite insistent that matters in Detroit needed his immediate and personal attention and that the whole process would demand Castiel stay for several nights. And as much as he would have loved to have taken Dean with him, he knew that it would be another selfish act, in a lifetime full of selfish acts, and he had promised himself that if he could have Dean, really have him, he would never make another selfish choice.

In his absence he'd left Dean with a new phone and with his personal phone number and they texted each other almost constantly. Even so, the tyranny of distance made for tedious days and for bone-achingly lonely nights. How could it be that the warm press of Dean's lithe body had been something without which he'd lived for thirty years, but now it felt as exigent as air?

Luke was unusually irritable, and every time Castiel pulled his phone from his pocket he huffed and rolled his eyes. Castiel's limited patience was wearing intolerably thin.

*            *            *

Back at the estate, Castiel's huge bed felt enormously empty, but the room still smelled of Castiel, it echoed with his presence and Dean couldn't bring himself to sleep anywhere else.  It was hard for him now to remember how he had felt before Castiel, other than the vague but abiding sense of loss and anger that he'd felt for so long and so deeply that he'd turned it in upon himself and come to believe it was part of him.

School at least was a distraction from Castiel's absence and luckily, Dean's friends, who he'd neglected for several weeks, eagerly welcomed him back into the fold. 

On Thursday afternoon he volunteered to buy the rolling papers and weed from the tiny convenience store near the high school where Pamela Barnes, a fanatical proponent of legalizing marijuana, secretly sold small amounts of the drug to those she deemed to be worthy. Dean had done business with Pamela on one or two previous occasions; she always flirted with him furiously and gave him a few extra grams for free.

Dean sauntered in, cast her his sexiest smile and dropped some bills on the counter top.

"Hey, gorgeous. Long time no see." Pamela said and there was genuine affection in the woman's smile. "You been cheatin' on me with some pretty young thing? You're gonna break my heart."

"Never, Pamela. You know you're the only one for me." Dean drawled charmingly. 

Pamela didn't respond. She stood frozen, her hand fisting the crumpled bills, staring fixedly at a point behind Dean's left shoulder. Pamela's face contorted with fear and Dean turned to follow her gaze.

Behind him two men had entered the store. They stood side by side, not more than four feet from Dean, and both were dressed casually in dark clothes. One man had the hood of his sweater pulled tightly over his head and was staring intently at Dean. The other wore a black beanie and held a sawn-off shotgun leveled at Pamela.

“Give us your money, bitch, or you both get it,” he growled. 

“Woah, woah, calm down, man,” Dean said, putting his hands up in supplication.

The hooded man nudged the man with the gun and pointed at Dean. "Give it to pretty boy, that'll hurry her up."

Then it all happened so fast that it took Dean's brain several seconds to process the order of events. The armed man, his face intent, turned the barrel of the gun so that it was pointing directly at Dean's chest. There was a burst of gunfire and Dean fell to the ground. Then he was being pulled to his feet by strong hands and half-carried, half-dragged across the floor of the shops.

Disorientated, Dean struggled and his shoes slipped in what he realised was blood that was pooling thickly between two bodies that lay on the floor. Strong hands pulled him roughly through the shop doorway and hazily, through the steady ringing in his ears, Dean heard the trill of entrance alert bells, which seemed surreal against the back drop of Pamela's screams and the sound of sirens.

Dean was shoved into a car and landed sideways in the footwell. He attempted to right himself as the car engine vibrated to life. He fell back heavily onto the leather upholstery and took deep gulps of air as he tried to find his bearings. The car was travelling very fast and the windows were darkly tinted. As the ringing in his ears gradually subsided he could hear murmurings of conversation from the two men in the front seat.

“Where are you taking me?”

“We're taking you back to the estate, Mr Winchester. Mr Novak had us watching you. And just as well too,” the man chuckled.

"Is Pamela okay?" Dean asked thickly.

"Is Pamela the one with the vocal chords? Yeah, she's okay. But her store's a mess." Another chuckle.

“Godammit, where does Cas find you guys?” Dean muttered to himself.

As they approached the estate, Dean felt a growing sense of relief. It occurred to him then that this place had come to represent safety and security for him, something like, he imagined vaguely, how home might feel to other people.

One of the two men, Alex, (Dean noted the other man called him), insisted upon walking Dean into the house when they arrived. He kept his arm across Dean's back and hustled him in through a side entrance.

After extricating himself from Alex's grasp, Dean noticed the red footprints both men left on the shiny white floor tiles and he quickly shucked off his shoes.

Dean was immensely relieved that Alex didn't follow him as he took the stairs, two at a time, in his socked feet. Dean went straight to Castiel's room, tore his clothes off and jumped into the shower, turning the temperature up as high as he could tolerate.

He closed his eyes and wished fervently that Castiel were there. 

An hour later Dean was in bed, his hand curled around the TV remote control, pressing the button mechanically as images flashed across the screen. He'd lost his phone somewhere in the commotion so he wasn't able to call Castiel. And all he wanted, needed, was the firm reassuring pressure of Castiel's body against his own.

When Castiel arrived home a little while later, Dean was in bed with the lights off. The TV was still on and Dean was wide awake. Castiel climbed into bed, pausing only to kick off his shoes. They frantically embraced and held each other wordlessly until both slept.

            *            *            * 

 

Dean awoke the next morning, alone. He descended the steps and followed the sound of Cas' deep baritone into the front room. There was a stocky man in a cheap suit sitting in the single armchair opposite Castiel's, sipping from a crystal tumbler. Castiel's expression softened when Dean entered and he stood to greet him.

“Dean,” he said fondly and embraced him.

The other man watched the gesture and rose. Draining his glass he placed it gently on the side table.

“Well, sir,” he said, “I believe I've taken up enough of your time. Once again, I'm very pleased that your, er, young man escaped unscathed from that unpleasantness yesterday.”

Castiel nodded curtly and shook the hand that the man offered him.

“Don't trouble yourself, Mr Novak, I can see myself out.” The man bowed his head diffidently and left the room.

Dean watched him leave and then leaned into Castiel and kissed him deeply.

When they parted Dean asked, “Who was that?”

“That was a police detective. We were just clearing up some administrative issues regarding yesterday's incident.”

Dean pulled away from Castiel to watch the detective through the front window as the man headed down the front path towards his car.

“Well, hell. Doesn't he want to interview me? Do they want me to go down to the station?”

“No, no.” Castiel pulled Dean towards him. “It has all been resolved. There is nothing more to be done,” he said as he pressed tender kisses to Dean's stubbled jawline.

Dean pushed Castiel away. “Wait, what? I had a gun held to my back yesterday, Cas. Two men got fucking blown away three feet from me. I had their fucking blood on me! What the hell do you mean it's all been resolved?" Dean demanded.

Castiel cocked his head and regarded Dean momentarily. He placed his hands on Dean's chest and spread his fingers possessively. "I know how frightening that must have been for you. How awful. And it breaks my heart that I wasn't there to protect you.”

Dean placed his hands over Castiel's. “Well, you kind of were. If it hadn't been for those guys you had tailing me...” Dean faltered as the realisation hit him that Castiel had had people tailing him. It hadn't even occurred to him after the event yesterday, but what had been Castiel's motivation for having him, essentially, _watched_? He recalled Anna's warning and he felt his blood run cold.

Castiel smiled earnestly and continued talking. “That's why I took care of it all, Dean. I didn't want you to have to relive that ordeal. You can put it behind you.”

Castiel took Dean's hands in his own and tugged him towards the door. “Let's go back to bed. No school for you, of course, and I don't intend to leave the house. In fact, I don't see any reason why either of us should leave the bedroom for the rest of the day.”

Dean allowed himself to be pulled along.

Back in the bedroom a sumptuous breakfast feast had been set out on matching trays at each side of the bed. Dean climbed back into bed and watched silently as Castiel discarded his suit and slid in next to Dean in his underwear. 

They ate mostly in silence, Castiel casting searching looks in Dean's direction, sensing his discomfort. Meanwhile Dean deliberately avoided eye contact with the other man as he desperately questioned his own feelings and judgement. Was he making too much of this? He would surely be dead had Castiel _not_ put a tail on him. And how the hell had he got here anyway? These last few weeks he had been swept along on a tide of passion and excitement with a man almost twice his age, not pausing to consider that so much about Castiel remained a mystery. And Anna's words of warning played repeatedly in his head.

Finally, Castiel said, "Dean, I sense that you are distressed. Please tell me what I can do to alleviate your pain. Do you think you would benefit from another session with Anna?"

"Why were you having me watched, Cas? Do you not trust me?"

"Dean," Castiel sounded aghast, "Of course I trust you! But this business I'm in, as I've told you before, it's brutal. I just want to keep you safe."

Dean turned at last to look at Castiel. His blue eyes were earnest and his expression was filled with sincere concern. Dean's heart warmed and he felt his body slacken with relief as he felt a rush of pure devotion for the man before him. How could he possibly have ever doubted _this._

Castiel immediately sensed his change of mood. He plucked up a strawberry from the breakfast tray and put it to Dean's lips.

"Eat, you'll need your strength," he said, smiling wickedly.

Dean took a bite from the strawberry between Castiel's fingers and the sweet pink juice burst from the fruit and dribbled down his chin.

Castiel licked away the juice and put the rest of the strawberry in his own mouth.

Dean pushed Castiel back against the bed and lay his head on Castiel's shoulder, 

"Will you tell me more about yourself, Cas?" Dean asked tentatively, his hand tracing soft caresses against Castiel's naked chest.

"Anything you wish," Castiel responded. Then he sighed. "That's an expansive question. Where should I begin?"

"Tell me about Anna and your brothers."

“Well, I remember when my father brought them home, each one of them, one by one.” Castiel said. “Rafe, Mike and Luke were older than me, Anna and Gabe were younger. But my father waited until they were each at least six or seven years old before he adopted them."

"Why'd he do that?"

"Because that way they were old enough to know that they should be grateful to my father, and obedient. And most importantly, of course, that they were subordinate to me.”

“That's some really sick shit right there, Cas.” Dean frowned. “No wonder Luke's a dick.”

“Luke worshipped my father, Dean. He still does. He won't hear a word against him and he continues to accept my father's doctrine. But my father never even deigned to give any of them the Novak surname.”

“So you were the favoured son, huh?”

“As far as he was concerned I was his only son, the others were closer to minions.”

Dean sat up and took Castiel's face in his hands. “He moulded you in his image, didn't he? This whole life, it's not you, despite what Anna says, it's all his legacy.”

“Yes. He believed a man needed to be hard." Castiel said quietly. "He demanded I participate in my first killing when I turned thirteen. He told me I was a man and I was given a gun. But I couldn't bring myself to use it. So he brought Gabe in and made me watch while he was beaten. The next time he gave me a gun I used it properly.”

Dean felt sick. “What happened to Gabe, then?”

“Gabe ran away when he was sixteen. Smartest thing any of us ever did. Rafe became a lawyer. Father allowed it because he thought it might benefit the business, but I haven't heard from either of them in many years.”

Dean leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to Castiel's lips. "Shitty fathers are a dime a dozen," he said, "but we have _this_."

 *        *       *

Castiel knew something was wrong; it was instinct that first alerted and woke him. But when he went to switch on his bedside lamp the power was out. In an instant he'd taken up his glock and his hand was on Dean's chest where he lay curled up beside him in the bed. Castiel took blessed reassurance from Dean's even breathing. 

He evaluated the situation. The light of the gibbous moon illuminated the bedroom enough for Castiel to be certain they were alone in the room. Dean stirred.

*

 

Cas' lips were a warm pressure on his own and Cas' voice whispered breathily in his ear. And Dean knew it was a dream in the way that you know it's a dream sometimes, but you're still happy to indulge in the suspension of disbelief. In his dream Dean tried to speak, to tell Cas where he needed to be touched.

But then his mind was jarred to full consciousness and the realisation struck him that there was actually a hand over his mouth, and Dean's first instinct was to fight.

But then he registered that it was Castiel's hand. Castiel was so close that Dean could feel his warm breath on his face.

“Dean, you need to get up now,” Castiel spoke in a calm even tone.

Castiel pressed one hand into Dean's armpit, and pulled firmly at his bicep with the other, and Dean didn't think to resist. He then beckoned silently to Dean and Dean felt compelled to follow.

“I need you to do as I say, without argument.” Castiel whispered. “Go in there, lock the door and don't come out until you hear my voice.”

Castiel indicated towards the bathroom, his face a mask of composure.

Dean pulled on Cas' shoulder, “What's going on Cas?” his eyes searching. There was something intense and decisive about Castiel's manner that he'd never seen directed at himself before.

“Dean, you need to obey me. Go.”

Castiel pushed Dean into the room with enough force that Dean almost lost balance, and he pushed the door shut behind him.

“Lock it,” he commanded.

Dean locked the door wordlessly before turning and sinking to the floor.

For a moment he actually wondered if this wasn't part of some elaborate joke, but quickly dismissed that thought. This was Cas, after all. Cas didn't mess with him. Cas had only ever treated Dean with respect and kindness.

It seemed like an age had passed, but it was probably only a few minutes, when Dean heard a volley of gun shots. The sound shocked him into action and he turned the lock and surged out of the bathroom and down the hallway at a sprint. 

Then there was another burst of gunfire, and Dean had a direction to follow. Several long moments of silence were broken by three, four more shots and Dean stumbled at the top of the stairs, his heart pounding, before regaining his balance enough to scramble down the rest.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs he was grabbed so suddenly and firmly by the back of his shirt that his legs flew out from under him and he landed on his ass on the thick carpeting.

“Cas,” he gasped wildly.

“No, son. But I'm going to need your help. The house has been compromised. I can't find Castiel.”

Dean started at the unfamiliar voice, and looked up quickly into Luke's stony face.

“No fucking joke the house has been fucking compromised!” Dean said fiercely, pulling himself to his feet.

Luke rolled his eyes. “You need to come with me,” he said, grabbing Dean roughly by the shoulder and pushing him forwards. Dean noticed that the man held a large semi-automatic handgun in his left hand.

“Hands off the fucking merchandise,” Dean snarled, fear and adrenaline burning with equal fury.

He tried to pull away but Luke's grip tightened.

“Where's Cas?” Dean demanded.

“I just told you son, you're going to help me find him, you little shit.” Luke shoved the gun viciously into Dean's back.“Oh, Castiel.” Luke called out, “I've got Dean here. And he's so very very pretty. It would be such a shame to have to blow his pretty face all over the walls!”

“Fuck you, asshole!” Dean grunted when the barrel of the gun dug sharply into the back of his neck.

“Well, doesn't he have a mouth on him? But then you'd know all about that, wouldn't -”

“Let him go,” Castiel growled, stepping into the room and holding his Glock up high in the air in a show of surrender.

“Put it down and push it to me.”

Castiel slowly placed the gun on the floor in front of him and pushed it with his foot. It didn't move very far on the carpeted floor.

“I really didn't want to have to get my hands dirty. This just -” Luke took a deep shuddering breath and exhaled slowly- “this whole fucking situation - it just fills me with rage.” Luke forcefully kicked the back of Dean's knees so that he dropped to the floor, then pushed the gun down behind his ear.

Castiel raised both hands in a calming gesture. “You need to stop, Luke. Take a moment to calm yourself. Just tell me what you want, and you can have it. Dean doesn't have anything to do with this.”

“See, that's where you're wrong, Castiel. The kid has everything to do with this. He has corrupted you. He's the reason I had to do this-”

“Had to betray me, you mean? You're my brother.”

“Your adopted brother, Castiel. And I love you. I've always respected you, and your place in the family. But you've become weak. People are laughing at you, Castiel. You've taken up with this boy, _this hoodlum_ , and you've got your mind out of the game. It's all going to fall apart and I'm the only one who can save it, save you from yourself.”

“Take it, then. I don't care anymore, Luke. Take charge and let Dean go and you can have it all.”

"I don't want that! I want you to come to yourself again, Castiel. It's your place as a Novak! It's that name that should be feared, once was. The fact that you would give up so easily!” Luke cried. “I thought if I intervened you'd come to your senses.”

“Intervened how, Luke? By attacking my home? Killing my staff?”

“Only Winchester was supposed to die! You're the one who's killing people. It could have all been over the other day with that armed robbery, but you had to go and put a tail on him! So I did what I had to do. I took out the security system for a bit, anonymously hired the Barrys to do a hit. Fucking useless bastards, couldn't organize a simple fucking hit when _every fucking aspect_ was taken care of!" Luke had worked himself up into a frenzy. His eyes were wild and he gesticulated violently with his free hand. "I figured with him dead you'd return to your senses, Castiel. Take out the Barry clan and re-establish your reputation with some very public retribution and everything could be back to how it was...”

“Good God, Luke! I don't want things how they were, empty and meaningless-”

“- Just the fact,” Luke cut in, “that I could find anyone to do the hit in the first place, to come _into your home_ \- that wouldn't have happened six months ago.”

“Oh for heaven's sake, Luke. You'll always be able to find some junky weak or stupid enough to do something crazy for money. This is all in your head. You've gone insane.”

“For the love of our father, Castiel! You're a wet dream for a piece of trash like him! Are you really deluded enough to think this boy wants you for anything other than what he can milk from you financially?”

Castiel looked pained. “I have no illusions, Luke-”

Castiel was interrupted by a loud grunt from Dean as Luke delivered a savage kick that propelled Dean forwards onto the floor. He reached down and grabbed Dean's hair and jerked his head up. Castiel clenched his jaw.

“And you, you stupid son of a bitch, what do you really think happened to your Daddy? Does he know, Castiel?” he looked to Castiel, “I mean, surely he can't be that naïve?”

“What the fuck are you talking about, you asshole? What about my father?” Dean spat.

Luke laughed with something approaching genuine surprise. “Wow, he really doesn't know, Castiel!”

Dean cringed as Luke put his face right next to Dean's and stroked his cheek with the barrel of his gun. “All this time you've been giving it to Daddy-Cas here, and your real Daddy's blood is on his hands. It's almost Oedipal.”

Castiel's face drained of colour as Dean's green eyes met his, wide with confusion.

“Cas, that's not true, is it?”

Castiel lowered his eyes.

“You see, Castiel, it's all over now. The truth has been revealed and this is the only way out now.” Luke laughed maniacally. He angled his gun at Dean's head. “I'm doing this for you, brother. You'll come to appreciate that as soon as I rid you of this infection.”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the impact. But before Luke could follow through, Castiel had drawn out a gun from the back of his pants, aimed it at his brother and pulled the trigger.

Luke staggered with the impact and dropped to the floor.

Dean slumped forwards onto his hands and knees.

Castiel descended upon him, drawing Dean into his arms and clasping him tightly.

A shudder ran through Dean's frame and icy dread clutched at Castiel's soul.

“Dean, forgive me.” His voice was barely a whisper.

With effort, Dean pulled back from Castiel's desperately tight grasp to look into Castiel's face. Castiel's blue eyes brimmed with tears. Dean's hands gripped the fabric at Castiel's shoulders. His expression was stony, his eyes dry.

“You saved me, Cas, from my father's hell, his goddam addiction and his violence. And then you saved me again. And I know you'll always keep saving me.” He pulled Castiel's mouth to his and kissed him fiercely until at length they parted, breathless. 

Dean burrowed his face into Castiel's neck, encircled within the warm sanctuary of Castiel's arms. 

“And more than any of that, I love you. The rest will fade away. I'm yours," he murmured.

And Dean knew that he and Castiel were far from perfect. But this love was by far and away the best thing he'd ever known. And that was more than enough. 

 

 


End file.
